


Sunny Side Up

by predilection



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:55:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2105361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/predilection/pseuds/predilection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha makes Clint breakfast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunny Side Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [muse_in_denial](https://archiveofourown.org/users/muse_in_denial/gifts).



> For muse_in_denial who asked for Avengers friendship fic for the prompt "breakfast".

Someone turned the light on, flooding the kitchen with light and waking Clint up in the process. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and refusing to move from where he had his head pillowed in his arms against the table. 

The kitchen was usually empty at this hour, and he could tell by the gentle touch on his shoulder that it was Nat who had entered the room. For her, he lifted a hand to turn on his hearing aid before dropping it back onto the table and listened to her pour herself what was probably her customary glass of orange juice 

She took a seat next to him. "Hard night?" she asked, her voice mercifully soft.

"I wish," he mumbled. "Headache."

She hummed. "For how long?"

Clint had got up to stretch his legs and get some water around two, and if Nat was up, it was probably just after five, which meant-- "At least three hours."

"Take anything?"

"Ibuprofen." 

She hummed again, and they lapsed into silence as she drank her juice and, from the sounds of it, read the paper. Clint was happy it was Nat with him. Unlike some of their other teammates, she knew how to be peaceful, and at times like this, she seems to radiate that peace in a calming way.

Clint was just starting to doze when he felt Nat's hand on his shoulder again.

"You should go back to bed," she suggested.

Clint sighed. "But that requires moving."

"You should also try eating something and drinking some water."

Clint groaned. He wasn't up to cooking or, hell, opening the fridge. He wasn't even up to opening his eyes. "That also requires moving."

He heard her huff, and then the sounds of her chair being pushed back against the floor. He followed her footfalls back towards the sink and then to the fridge.

He could hear her rifling around in the fridge, but it wasn't until he heard the tell-tale sound of someone pulling out a pan that he clued in to what was going on. "Are you... cooking?"

"I can cook," Nat said, sounding defensive, but Clint knew that was a cover.

"Yeah, I know that, but except for that one time in Prague, which you swore would never happen again in my lifetime, you never cook." Soon after they moved into the Tower, Bruce had put together a chore chart. Somehow, without fail, Nat always got out of cooking, whether it was by trading with someone or by being on assignment. "Ever."

He heard the hiss of something being fried, and knew he should at least open his eyes. Nat cooking was something he really should pay attention to. But his head hurt, and he really didn't want to move until he had to.

The kitchen filled with the smells of cooked eggs and toast. Usually, when he had a headache this bad, the smell of food made him feel sick. However, this time it made him realize just how hungry he was.

A few minutes later, he heard Nat put a plate down next to his head. "Sunny-side up," she said simply, like this was no big deal.

Clint smiled slowly. "My favorite."

"You need to get up," she reminded him.

Part of him still didn't want to move, but the part of him that was hungry and the part of him that was aware that _Nat_ had cooked for him really wanted to eat the eggs. He grumbled something unintelligible, lifted his head and cracked open an eye. He hissed at the light as he forced himself to sit up.

He reached for the plate of eggs and toast. There were two eggs, and they looked much nicer than they did when he made them himself -- they were round and not broken or burnt in any way. He took a moment to admire them.

"There's cutlery by your elbow," Nat said, reminding him that he was supposed to be eating.

He grabbed a fork and dragged the plate closer. He took a bite. It was good. Really good. It was just what he needed.

Nat sat down again, and went back to reading the paper as Clint devoured his breakfast. When he was done, she told him, "If anyone asks, you made your own breakfast."

"Of course," he agreed. He stared down at his dirty plate, still feeling touched by her gesture. If Nat was willing to cook for him, it meant she cared for him more than most. He knew this already, of course, but it was nice to have the reminder. 

Five minutes later, his headache wasn't as bad as it was, but it still was awful, and he was still staring down at his place.

"You really should go back to bed," Nat told him again, bringing him back to reality.

"Yeah, I probably should," he conceded, but instead of getting up, he pushed the dirty plate aside and placed his head down on the table.

Nat sighed and stood again. He was half thinking that she would physically drag him out of his chair, but instead he heard a cabinet open and the tap run. A moment later she placed a tall glass of water next to his head.

"Drink this."

He begrudgingly lifted his head enough to drink the water.

Before he could plop back down, Nat said, "In an hour, Cap's going to come in. In two hours, the kitchen will be full of people. You don't want to sleep here."

Nat, of course, was right, which meant he needed to get up. It took some effort, but he dragged himself to his feet, stretching his arms over his head and immediately regretting it when he felt a rush of vertigo.

His eyes were half-closed as he made for the door. He paused in the door frame. "Hey, Nat?" he said, not turning around to face her.

"Hmm?" she replied.

"Thanks."

"Get some rest," she said. 

He smiled and left.


End file.
